The Limehouse Text by Will Thomas Read Free Book Online

made a gesture with his arms, waving with the back of his hands as if to say “search” or “look for the dog.” There was another chorus of grins and nods and the crowd dispersed. Barker stepped back.
    “That should yield some results,” he said, threading the cufflinks back into his cuffs. “Where did you last see Harm?”
    “He was in Three Colt Street, heading south, I believe. I didn’t drop him, sir. My arms were pulled apart.”
    “That is not more than two blocks from here. Come along.”
    I am convinced Barker has as exact a knowledge of the city as a cabman or constable. Two turns later, we were staring at the residence of Miss Winter, the sight of my recent disgrace.
    “Which way?”
    “There, sir. Down that alley.”
    Barker stopped a Chinaman, no doubt to ask after the dog. The old codger broke into a wide grin and began nodding, but quickly turned to shaking his head. No dog. We walked down Three Colt Street, looking into alleyways and calling Harm’s name. The trail seemed cold. I was definitely worried now. Regardless of what footing this put me on with my employer, I could not imagine being at home without Harm’s scratching to go in or out or dozing in the garden. I am not the kind who dotes on animals, but I had to admit the little fellow had made a place for himself in my life.
    There was another matter bothering me, but I hesitated to bring it up. My arm was going numb, and moving my hand was proving less and less easy. I tucked my elbow against my side and went on looking into alleyways.
    I let the lid of a dustbin fall as an Oriental youth came running around the corner of the alley we stood in, calling out. He spoke for a moment with Barker, then ran back the way he had come. The Guv crossed his arms and stood for a moment expectantly.
    “What’s ‘Shi Shi Ji’ ?” I asked in Barker’s ear, remembering what the youth had been calling.
    “I am,” he said. “It is the name I went by in China.”
    “What does it mean?” I asked. “Names generally mean something in China, don’t they?”
    There was a commotion in the street ahead of us.
    “It means ‘stone lion,’” Barker said, looking over my shoulder.
    A crowd of Orientals surged around the corner and parted, and a man stepped forward, his arms full of black fur and a wagging plume tale.
    “I say, chaps, might this little fellow belong to you?” the man asked.
    Harm barked at us as if he had done something clever and weren’t we the fools to be taken in by his little ruse. He jumped out of the man’s arms, landed as lightly as if he were a cat, and scampered down the alleyway toward us as fast as his short, crooked legs would allow. Barker reached down and scooped him up, and the dog lay in his arms, as snug as if he were in Abraham’s bosom, with his ridiculously long tongue hanging out of his mouth, licking at Barker’s spectacles. Unlike myself, he seemed completely unscathed by his adventure in Limehouse. If anything, he looked refreshed.
    Barker had his arms full and was paying attention to the dog, but I was free to concentrate on Harm’s rescuer. The fellow doffed his top hat and gave a formal bow. As my eyes took him in, I began to wonder if I had somehow followed Alice down the hole after the White Rabbit. For strangeness, the fellow rivaled the mad Hatter or the Cheshire-Cat, but he gave no impression that he knew how bizarre he looked. He merely placed the hat upon his head again and favored me with a big smile.
    “Pleased to meet you, old sport. Woo’s the name. James Woo, but everyone calls me Jimmy.”
    Jimmy Woo stood about five foot six and wore a spotless charcoal gray coat with striped trousers. His tie was lavender silk, as were his gloves and handkerchief. He wore a monocle and his pumps were polished to a high gloss that even our butler, Jacob Maccabee, would respect, and all this topped by a face as Chinese as fried rice. He wore no queue and his hair was combed back in one long wave to his